A Pupil
by ancslove
Summary: The induction of a new member of Les Amis de l'ABC is a serious matter, despite the seeming casualness. And sometimes, new members don't turn out the way they are predicted.
1. The Pre-Initiation of Marius Pontmercy

Courfeyrac stretched out comfortably on Enjolras' bed, not caring the least that the bed's owner was relegated to a small corner on the end. Enjolras seemed content enough, face buried in some coursework that Courfeyrac hadn't even begun. Courfeyrac himself was in the process of arguing a far more important case.

"He's a good man. And he'll bring our core group to a nice, round number of ten."

The third occupant of the room drew his brows together in a familiar expression of cautious disapproval. Although the final decision would be Enjolras', Combeferre's vet held significant weight. His was often the last word before Enjolras made the call. "Is that the totality of your reasoning?"

"Of course not. As I said, he's a good fellow. Seems intelligent, if a might shy sometimes. A dreamer, has his head in the clouds an impressive amount of the time, but also has a good heart. I know these things."

Sitting forward, Combeferre arched an inquiring brow, tilting his head slightly in Enjolras' direction, and Courfeyrac laughed. "No, not at all. But good, nonetheless."

Combeferre sank back in his chair, feeling an inexplicable relief easing his muscles.

"Nine is a significant and powerful number in many cultures," Enjolras chimed in without looking up.

Exchanging a secret smile with Combeferre, Courfeyrac fairly catapulted himself into a cross-legged sitting position and flung an arm around the blond. "We could start a new and glorious tradition for ten."

Wisely, Courfeyrac decided not to voice the other fanciful thoughts floating in his head. That Enjolras could be the Sun for his nine planets, or Apollo for his nine Muses. Combeferre wouldn't appreciate his use of whimsy over truth, and Enjolras could be hurt. He pulled Enjolras closer, as if in apology for his errant thought, and nuzzled the soft hair. Looking down, he frowned. "Why are you working on this now? It's not due for another four days."

"I have meetings and other, more important work to accomplish in those four days. What is your friend's name?"

"Marius. Marius Pontmercy. A nice kid who seems amenable."

"Has he mentioned any political beliefs?" asked Combeferre.

Courfeyrac tried to suppress a chuckle, the memory still amusing even days after the incident. "Yes. He's, erm, a Bonapartist democrat."

"He's a _what_?" Enjolras slowly looked up at him, and now Courfeyrac did laugh at the complete disbelief etched in his friend's normally impassive face.

Combeferre's frown had returned. "Courfeyrac, that can't be his genuine alignment. If this friend isn't willing to be honest with you, I highly doubt that he's ready to meet the others."

"I admit that it sounds feeble and ridiculous. But I believe that he's just confused, and meeting the rest, seeing us in the Musain, can only help him. He's ready, he just doesn't realize that yet. We will be gaining a new ally, and helping a young soul in need! I was right about Prouvaire, wasn't I?"

"Prouvaire's convictions were firm and his eyes already opened. He needed only a roost to nurture them. That does not sound like your friend here."

"Perhaps not, Enjolras. But Marius is no royalist, and the beliefs that he does hold are strong. I think his political ideals are still unformed, but his dislikes align with ours. With proper tutoring, I think he could be an asset. At least try him?"

Enjolras glanced at Combeferre, who shifted a shoulder in turn. Both seemed at a loss, and Courfeyrac pressed that advantage. "I'm not asking to induct him right now. Just, let me bring him to the Musain. Let him meet you and our friends, and hear us speak freely about the things close to our hearts. If he learns as I predict, we may proceed from there."

Enjolras took his hand. "You would vouch for him? It would be endangering many people, not just us, if he doesn't do as you predict. If he should listen, and then go to the police," he trailed off.

"I don't think he will," Courfeyrac assured him. "He's far too timid to do something like that. And he knows me and Bossuet. Even if he doesn't join us, he won't betray us."

Courfeyrac gripped the hand he held, and stretched the other across to Combeferre. "You know that I'd never endanger you like that."

Another glance, then Enjolras nodded decisively. "Very well, I trust you. Let us meet your friend."


	2. How do you solve a problem like Marius?

Courfeyrac flopped onto Enjolras' bed in utter dejection, burying his face in his arms. "I'm so sorry."

Behind him, Combeferre stalked into the room, every step bristling in tightly controlled indignation. "I could perhaps forgive him easier, if he'd still been brand new to our aims. But I suppose it's best that he show his true colors now."

"God, Combeferre! It's not like he's a royalist!"

"No, a Bonapartist! That's w-"

"Don't exaggerate so. A Bonapartist is in no way worse than being a Bourbon adherent." The defense was half-hearted. Marius' tirade today stung, Courfeyrac had been so sure that he'd join them. And Courfeyrac did take pride in his eye for new recruits. His instinct rarely misfired, he knew people intuitively, and to have such a disappointment come from a friend was a bad shock. "I was so sure that he was progressing on track."

Combeferre sighed, "You know, when you told us his idea of a political allegiance, I had hoped that the 'Bonapartist' aspect referred to the man's military ability, to give credit where credit is due. I was not expecting . . . _that_. Such idolization of Bonaparte's programs and conquests has no place in our work."

"He's young," Courfeyrac murmured weakly, unwilling to give up just yet on his friend. "He's impressionable and unthinking. At least he's enamored of personality and deeds, rather than title and bloodlines. That's something. I still say that he can learn." He threw an aggrieved look at his friend. "That is, if you haven't chased him off entirely. He made an ass of himself, but was your full repartee really necessary?"

Combeferre huffed, about to respond, but the third presence in the room cut him off. Enjolras, silent since leaving the Musain, now took a seat next to Courfeyrac. "The problem isn't that Pontmercy's ideals are badly flawed. Or rather, it isn't just that. He's reckless. It's not that he declaims in a room full of opposing minds, I've done that before, it's that he doesn't even realize his audience is against him. He speaks with passion, but with no depth or discernment. If we do convince him, he may still be more of a danger than an aid."

Courfeyrac winced at the denouncement. "So you think to let him go?"

Enjolras held up a hand. "No. I think he bears watching. I think he's in an even worse position than Grantaire. But he can learn. He's bright and passionate, and if he lets himself be open to guidance, he may yet be great."

"What did you say to him after we left, Enjolras?" Combeferre asked.

Enjolras' shoulders rolled in a slow shrug. "The truth." And both Courfeyrac and Combeferre knew they would get no more from him. Courfeyrac shifted closer to the blond, leaning into a warm shoulder. Enjolras' arm automatically wrapped around him, giving a comforting squeeze.

"It's not your fault Courfeyrac, and you have nothing for which to apologize. I think your initial assessment about not going to the police is correct, and maybe Pontmercy will join us in full one day." One corner of his mouth twitched up in a slight smile. "And I cannot say that you failed to warn us about his Bonapartist proclivities."

Enjolras stretched his free arm toward Combeferre, beckoning their third to join them. As Combeferre settled on the bed, Courfeyrac closed his eyes and relaxed into Enjolras' embrace. He wouldn't give up on Marius, but even if the boy never returned, he still had enough love, friendship, and purpose to last several lifetimes, right here.


End file.
